What We Carry With Us
by Land of Parchment and Ink
Summary: "We each carry with us unique gifts, recognized and unrecognized. We long to harness those gifts in a way that gives life significance and helps us to matter more in the lives of others." Tom Hayes. AU. Three: Oin son of Groin is a healer through and through. Credits to AYURI-327 (Deviantart) for the cover image.
1. Hear Thoughts, Move Things

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Hobbit.

**Author's Note**: Oops, I wrote another for the Hobbit again. Hopefully this would help me update my other ongoing story, now that my mind's in an "idea craze". Hopefully.

So basically, these stories (one-shots, rather), fall in the category "what if the Company of Thorin Oakenshield has powers". That's all.

* * *

I.

_That lying son of an Orc._

_Damn dwarrowdam. She's worth nothing without her husband's wealth! Filthy, deceiving wench…_

_Should I tell the guards that I caught old Kàvir stealing the smith's coins? But he scares me… I don't know what to do!_

_He clings like a troublesome leech to you, your idiotic lordship! You must be blind, not being able to see such a thing!_

Those were only one of the kinds of words he had heard during his childhood years in the Mountain. Night and day, his mind never failed to perceive malicious thoughts toward one another masked by kind or innocent faces. Be him in the company of those who swore loyalty to the king (courtesy of his father) or with the general populace (this time his mother), harsh and unsavory thoughts directed at another were most of what his then young mind could hear.

(It was not that he has never heard of benevolent thoughts from a fellow dwarf's mind before; it was just he, as a young child, was curious and sad as to why others think of such harsh thoughts.)

With all the curiosity and innocence of a seven-year old, he once asked his parents why people say such things in their minds and what he should do to stop hearing them, to which the two only shared a knowing look and for his amad to gather him in her ever loving arms and gently tell him that it was what he was bound to find out as he grew.

And as time flew by, Balin son of Fundin learned how to stop others' thoughts from invading his mind and when to actually seek out and acknowledge those worthy to listen to. It was a tedious work and required a lot of concentration, but he slowly and surely, and smoothly, got the hang of it as he grew up. Balin was patient and diligent for a young dwarfling his age, eager to learn to control and be responsible with his gift, and with these traits he successfully achieved what he first thought he could not.

When his mother conceived and gave birth to his younger brother, Balin sought ways on how to help take care and raise his sibling and at the same time not to be a nuisance (not that he once ever was) so that his father could attend to his duties whenever Fundin's presence was required in the king's council. It was during those times that the young dwarf discovered another gift of his, shadowed by his ability to hear people's thoughts that he focused so much with.

"Bawin, I wan' cookie," three-year old Dwalin cooed at his older brother, dark eyes wide as a pleading pup's. The oldest son of Fundin gazed down at the toddler, eyes twinkling with amusement at the dwarfling bouncing on his lap.

Balin shifted his hold on the book he was reading to his brother and leveled his sibling with a look of mock seriousness. "I'm still reading you a story about Durin the Deathless, Dwal. Only if you promise to behave until I'm done will I give you the cookie you want."

The tiny dwarfling furrowed his brows in contemplation at his older brother's words. A moment later, young Dwalin gazed back up at Balin with a hopeful grin.

"Dwal get cookie?" he asked, stopping on his bouncing and leaning up to peer at Balin's face. The older between the two chuckled and flicked the toddler's nose playfully, causing the latter to let out a squeal of laughter.

"Only if you behave," he reminded Dwalin, trying and failing to mimic their father's sternness when in the king's presence. The tiny dwarfling nodded rather solemnly.

"Dwal pwomises."

Balin smiled in approval and ruffled his baby brother's thick dark locks. "Good. Now, Durin the Deathless…"

_Dwal wan' cookie._

"…owned a great axe and a helm…"

_I wuv amad an' adad an' Bal!_

"…and it says in this book that Khâzad-dum was his…"

_Bal nose, big._

Balin squawked loudly in protest at his brother's last thought. He closed one of his hands on Dwalin's smaller one when the latter reached up at his face and gave a great sigh at his baby brother's antics.

"My nose isn't big, Dwalin," the older retorted, a pout appearing on his round face. Dwalin slapped a hand on his mouth to suppress his laughter and only gave his brother a cheeky grin. Balin rolled his eyes in fond exasperation and grinned back at the dwarfling. Better give Dwalin a cookie now to make his mouth and mind to stop babbling if only temporarily. "Alright, little rascal, I'll give you your cookie."

The older dwarfling let out another amused chuckle at his baby brother's victorious crows. Gently and carefully, Balin lifted Dwalin off of his lap and settled the latter on the armchair the two of them were seated on. He then slid off the chair and walked towards the shelf where their mother always placed the jar of cookies she baked.

Looking up, the older son of Fundin was met by an obstacle. The jar was situated on the topmost section of the shelf, too high for him to reach but a relatively easy task for his parents. Balin frowned thoughtfully and scanned the sitting room for something he could use to step on for additional height for him to be able to retrieve the jar of cookies. He noticed a wooden stool beside the door, but judging by its height and his own, Balin knew that standing on top of it and on the tips of his toes would not suffice.

"Bawin, cookie?" came Dwalin's voice from the armchair.

Balin turned to look at his younger brother and gave a defeated sigh. The older glanced back at the jar and placed his small hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry nadadith, but I guess we'll have to wait for amad or adad to come home so they could get the jar for us," he told the toddler calmly. Balin was still small to be able to reach it, let alone drag one of the heavy armchairs towards the shelf. The dwarfling looked at the thick books resting on the shelf and scowled at the thought of piling them up and stepping on them. To him books were sacred, and he would rather choose to wait for their parents and endure Dwalin throwing a fit than to use a book or two as leverage to be able to get the cookie jar.

"No! Wan' cookie now!" Dwalin protested, slamming his tiny fists on the cushion. He gave his older brother a fierce scowl, lower lip jutting out. Balin knew that it was meant to intimidate him, but the look his little brother was giving him looked rather adorable than scary.

The older dwarfling chuckled and shook his head. Ever so patiently, he swept a hand up at the jar and smiled at his brother. "But I can't reach it, Dwal. I still won't reach it even if I use the stool and step on it. And no, I will never use the books to step on," he said, adding the last sentence when Dwalin's eyes darted from the tomes to him. Balin then held his hands, palms up, in front of Dwalin to show him that he was not holding the jar and presenting it to the latter like he usually did. "Look, nothing. I want to give you a cookie, too, Dwalin, but I really can't. I can't reach the jar. If only I could will it to float off the shelf and into my hands _—_"

Balin stopped in midsentence when something rather heavy dropped on his hands. At Dwalin's shriek of delight, the older dwarfling looked at what he was suddenly holding and his eyes widened in disbelief.

The cookie jar! But how—?

Balin held the jar carefully when he almost lost grip of it in his shock. How did it end up in his hands? One moment he was saying that it cannot just float off the shelf and land on his hands and the next, here it was. In his hands! But how indeed? It was not as if he was visualizing the jar drifting towards his outstretched hands to humor himself_—_

But he _was_, Balin realized with a start. He was vividly imagining the jar sliding off the shelf and hovering for a second before floating towards his hands. The dwarfling blinked, put the jar on the carpeted floor, and ran towards his little brother. His eyes snapped back to the jar standing innocently on the floor, unmoving. He hushed Dwalin when the latter started a chant that only contained the word 'cookie' and focused his gaze on the glass jar a few feet away from them.

Dark eyes glinting with curiosity, Balin concentrated for a moment and clearly pictured the jar zooming towards him. The thing did not move. He focused harder, ignoring Dwalin's voice for a moment, and, stretching a hand forward, willed the jar to come towards him.

The effect was instantaneous. The jar flew from the floor, as if with wings, and zoomed towards his outstretched hand. Balin quickly grasped the thing using both hands in fear that it might fall and looked at it with mounting disbelief. He did it; he actually _summoned_ the jar from the floor to him (off the shelf first, though unwittingly)… like magic!

At Dwalin's insistence and prying hands, Balin opened the cookie jar and handed his baby brother a treat, still in shock and awe at what he just did. Managing a weak smile and nod at the toddler's thanks, the oldest son of Fundin wondered in amazement.

First, he could hear what other people were thinking. Now, he just discovered that he could move things just by concentrating on the task _–_ without physically touching them!

Still in awe, Balin uttered a prayer of thanks to Mahal for his amazing gifts. He sincerely hoped that he could use these gifts for a good cause. The dwarfling smiled hopefully.

_With these gifts, maybe I could help the king someday!_

* * *

_amad- mum_

_adad - dad_

_nadadith - little brother_


	2. Indomitability

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Hobbit or any related characters.

**Author's Note: **Balin's ability to "hear" other people's thoughts is one-sided. He can't communicate with other's in his mind, either, and his "hearing" has a certain limitation: He can only "hear" those who are around him. So, his gift is not actually like Lady Galadriel's. Just clarifying things, I made myself unclear in the first chapter with Balin's powers.

* * *

II.

The battle to reclaim Moria was absolutely terrifying.

Even though his king's army was great both in skill and number, there was no denying that the Orcs were gaining the upper hand. The creatures kept coming at their forces in waves, enough to instill fear in the hearts of any army, but not the dwarves of Erebor.

With a fierce roar, he charged forward and led those nearest to him to break the enemy's ranks. He hacked and parried every attack thrown at him, twin axes biting horrid flesh and tasting black blood as he felled foe after foe. Whenever a comrade was struck down, he would take their place and kill the unfortunate orc that defeated them.

He knew, however, that such an act would never bring them back.

_I could avenge them. It is the least that I could do,_ he thought grimly as he head-butted an orc, the latter's skull smashing with a painfully sickening crack. He drove one of his axes into the creature's chest for good measure and pushed the body off of him.

A horrified shout of his name brought him momentary pause. He whirled around and saw a flash of gold in the midst of blackness. Heart leaping up in his throat, he realized in horror who the dwarf was.

"No, behind you!" cried the flaxen-haired dwarf, desperately and effectively pushing past his foes and slaying them, twin swords flashing along with his bright hair and beard.

Grip on both his axes tightening, he shifted his gaze to where the other dwarf was suddenly pointing and saw a great scimitar coming forward to gut him. He was a second too late to block it, and the bloodied weapon unerringly found its mark.

+.+

The orc grinned with satisfaction at his target's surprised look. He looked down expectantly to see blood gushing forth the burly dwarf's stomach, only to find a sight that frightened him.

His scimitar was horribly bent and broken in two, the other half almost shattered to pieces on the bloody ground.

+.+

It was during his very first hunting expedition that he discovered the very rare gift he had been given.

Their party was ambushed by goblins. When he saw his prince, his cousin, about to be skewered by one of the foul creatures, he swiftly killed his enemy and flung himself in the crudely made sword's direction without any second thoughts.

_Protect the king's grandson with my life. _That was his only thought as he waited for the sword to slice through him. But it never happened.

A feral glint appeared in his dark eyes as he grabbed the orc's wrist and swung his axe in an upward stroke to slice its head off. He then kicked the body to the ground and grinned triumphantly at the sight of the broken scimitar that was meant to go through him and end his life.

An ambitious feat, he thought in grim amusement.

It was true, especially when one tried to impale a dwarf who can render himself invincible whenever he pleased.

His grin widened after thinking that the decapitated orc at his feet was no different from the goblin that made him discover his gift. He can be immune from any physical attacks if he so wanted, and he would admit to himself and sometimes to his brother that he had to ignore this ability every now and then — thus the scars adorning his body — unless it would be discovered and used for someone else's advantage. He knew that his older sibling has gifts of his own, and they both swore to each other and to their parents that they shall not divulge their secret abilities to someone unless they are worthy to be fully trusted.

(Their parents made them swore on their beards that they would keep their gifts secret when him, who recently discovered his unique ability, and his brother when they were younger. Amad and adad did not want their children to fall prey to some great evil should their gifts be revealed, after all.)

+.+

The battle finally came to an end hours later. The aftermath was devastating. They emerged victorious, but at a terrible price.

King Thrór was dead, decapitated by the Pale Orc. Their comrades killed in battle were also far too great, and no songs of celebration passed a single dwarf's lips that night.

Sadness flooded his entire being as he watched his kin grieved their losses. They had lost brothers, fathers, and friends. One particular father mourned the loss of a daughter who disguised herself as a male just to help in the battle. He himself wept when he and his brother found each other, thankfully alive and somewhat well. He wanted to rage when the latter informed him with a broken heart that their adad fell while defending the king's son. But even if he marched inside Moria and decimate the retreating army of orcs, he could never bring his father back to life. They both knew adad; he would die defending the king's family, with steel or without. So he only nodded quietly, his hands trembling violently in sorrow.

After gently touching foreheads with his brother for the last time that night, he let the latter go and went to look after the others himself. Before he could start searching for anyone wounded, however, the most gut-wrenching cry reached his ears and made his heart stop with a mixture of grief and despair.

He turned and ran towards the source, only to come to a halt at the sight that met him.

A dark-haired dwarf — _Thorin… it's Thorin!_ — was on his knees, howling with grief as he clutched another close to his chest. Beside him was a dwarrow with golden mane dulled with grime and blood. Thorin was crying as he held the other dark-haired dwarf close and tried to reach out for the third.

A broken bow and twin swords…

_Not them, Mahal, I beg you…_

"No, Frerin! Wake up, you have to wake up!"

Balin rushed to the scene and let out a strangled sob upon seeing who the two dead dwarves Thorin was holding.

"Frerin… Dàli, no! Open your eyes, the both of you! Don't do this to me, Frerin! Dàli, you promised Dís and Fíli and your unborn son! The two of you promised! Don't do this to us, please…! Mahal, take me instead!"

That moment, Dwalin wished that he was not the one Mahal had gifted. Grieving for his friend and cousin's losses (and Thorin's sister and her child waiting for them at home), he bitterly wished that he had the power to pass his gift to someone he thought who deserved it the most.

* * *

_adad - father_

_In my headcanon, Fíli and Kíli's dad died protecting Frerin._


	3. Healer

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Hobbit or any related characters.

* * *

III.

"Is he here?"

A dwarf with a shock of red hair and beard nodded and led him inside the room. He narrowed his eyes in deep thought and held his ear trumpet close to his ear.

"It is the third time this past two months, brother," said the red-haired dwarf, sighing in resignation when the sound of sniffling and whimpering came from the bed. "I hope ye'll never tire of doing this for us; for him."

A dwarrowdam flitted from the hall, a roll of bandages clutched in one hand and a cup of tea on the other. She breathed out in relief at the sight of a grey-haired dwarf holding an ear trumpet beside the one with the red mane.

"Oh Glóin, dear. I'm glad you managed to bring your brother with you," she said, smiling.

The red-haired dwarf named Glóin beamed at his wife before herding his brother towards the conspicuous lump on the bed.

"Ye know I'd trust one healer to look after me wayward bairn, love. Just the one. 'Specially when the wee lad comes back with a broken finger or two."

Óin shook his head with amusement at the couple and sat himself on the edge of the bed. Gently, he pulled the blanket off to reveal that the mass on the bed was no ordinary lump at all, but a small dwarfling who was nursing a swollen wrist. The apothecary tutted at the sight and coaxed the child into climbing on his lap.

"What have you done to yourself now, little Gimli?" asked Óin as he ruffled the youngling's hair so much like his father's. The dwarfling ducked his red head in embarrassment and only held his injured wrist closer to his chest.

Glóin heaved a deep breath and shuffled close to the two along with his wife. The latter soothingly rubbed the dwarfling's back in an attempt to calm him and gave her husband a pointed look.

"Little tyke tried to climb the apple tree at Dís's, I'd bet," she stated dryly and shot her husband an amused look, eyes twinkling. "Reminds me of a certain redhead in his nineties who climbed up my window and demanded rather loudly to allow him to court me."

Glóin's cheeks flushed as red as his hair.

"And I can still clearly remember that said dwarf had too much ale in his system that night," Óin added wistfully and chuckled.

"I never— I was merely— I was not drunk that night!" the redhead muttered indignantly, hands gesturing wildly in the air. When his wife and older brother shared a knowing laugh, he huffed in defeat and dropped his hands on his sides. "Alright, a little drunk, I admit… but none of this now. Do you think Gimli broke his wrist?"

Óin gazed at the dwarfling on his lap and gently took the latter's injured wrist. He inspected it for a moment with expert eyes and shook his head in conclusion. "Nay, only sprained it. Nothing I cannot handle."

Glóin's wife, Mella, smiled in relief. She took little Gimli from her brother-in-law and held the dwarfling close to her chest. "Thank Mahal," she breathed.

The dwarfling sniffled miserably in his mother's arms. "Hurts, ama'," he whimpered, sobs still racking his tiny body.

Glóin unconsciously gave his older brother a pleading look, and Óin immediately took the hint. He got up from his perch on the dwarfling's bed and gently grasped Gimli's injured wrist in one of his large hands. The old healer closed his eyes and focused on the child's sprained wrist.

A faint glow of light appeared on the hand holding Gimli's wrist. It faded seconds later, taking the swelling and pain away with it. The dwarfling gasped in awe and carefully twisted his previously injured wrist this way and that after his uncle let it go.

Óin reopened his eyes and smiled warmly at his little nephew. He ruffled the dwarfling's fiery locks affectionately and winked.

"No more tree climbing alright, _kurdith_? Or just be a bit more careful in the future if you can't help it, aye?" Óin told the child in mock seriousness. Little Gimli nodded and gave him a tight hug, which the old healer returned just as tenderly. When the dwarfling let go, he patted his uncle's grey beard softly and dipped his small head solemnly.

"Thank you, Uncle Óin. Your secret will always be safe with me," he vowed and threw his arms around his uncle once more. "_Men lananubukhs menu_…"

Glóin and Mella gave the apothecary bright and grateful smiles that filled him with warmth. He returned them with his own and gently touched his forehead with the dwarfling's.

"And I, you," Óin replied softly, ignoring the stinging pain on his left wrist where Gimli's injury had been.

* * *

_kurdith – little heart_

_men lananubukhs menu – I love you_


End file.
